Another Sister? Or a Little Mister?

There He is!

Little Mister cutie-pie.  Waving hi!

Best

Because I am their mom, there are times I simply can't help telling my kids that they are "the Best".
The best snuggler, the best ABC's singer, the best twirler/bed-maker/sister/thing that ever happened in the whole, whole world.
I'm not actively trying to raise little narcissists.  It just slips out every now and then.  Because, in MY world, they are the Best.
Little One has been soaring through a superhero phase recently.  She says, "I'm not Little One. IIIII'mmmm SUPER!" And one fist plowing ahead of Her body, She zooms around the house.  When She takes on a challenge like carrying something heavy or being dared to clean up the playroom in "world record time", She pumps that fist into the air and dives into Her task, singing of course (this IS Little One we're talking about), "I am super I am smart I am really really fast! I am strong I am super I can do every-thing! I can throw the bear up high, catch it-and-put it-away, I can pick up all the blocks faster than-you-ever-seen! YES I CAN!!!"
Since thus far She has used the power of super-self-esteem for Good, I frankly am pleased to see my tiny daughter filled with confidence.  I watch Her and think, please let this vast store of confidence last through puberty, at least, if not for life.  It gives me a sense of peace in a part of my heart that can get very anxious as the mother of daughters.
So at first I wasn't sure how to reply.
Little One wanted me to set up a racecourse and time Her good running. So She could show me how fast She is.  We marked it off with sandbox toys and each time I shouted "Go!" She took off with all Her might.  At the end, She collapsed into my lap triumphantly.
"Mom! Was that the fastest running you ever seen? Was that the best race running?!"
I grinned at Her and nodded, "that was some super fast running!"
"Yeah!"
She was quiet for a moment, then.  She started kicking restlessly at a pebble.
"We'll, you know mom.  That's fun for pretend.  I'm not really the best runner though.  All the kids in my class are faster than me.  I never catch them at recess time."
She looked at me almost apologetically, like She was trying to break something to me gently.
"I'm not REALLY the best mommy. The other kids are bester."
My Little One is full of talents and abilities.  And childhood is full of the joy of embodying a limitless potential.  I want to nurture those things in my children, I want them to shoot for any stars they take a shine to.  Of course, reality is that no one is the very best, by human comparison, at everything.  For a little body that struggles to grow just enough to get on the growth chart, there may be athletic feats that come harder for Her than others, and truly all achievements come with their challenges, no matter what inborn gifts a person carries.
How do I, as a parent, raise them to be fearless and confident and appreciative of their strengths without setting them up for disappointment when they aren't effortlessly the "best" at all they try?
I don't know, Peanuts! But awhile later, at bedtime, when Little One voiced a similar lament, I had to at least answer. 
I told Her that to me She and Miss would always be the Best, because I love them so much that I like the way they do things more than any other way.  They do things with a style that is unique to them, and that makes them the Best to me. I wanted Her to know that I am genuine in my praise, and that She will always have a number one fan.
But I also wanted Her to judge Herself according to things She can control Herself.
"You know, Little One.  You might not always be the very strongest or biggest or fastest. But. You
can be the toughest. You can be the kindest.  You can be the one who tries the hardest and doesn't give up.  And so you can always be your best."
Little One smiled and squeezed me and told me that I am the best Mommy in the world.
Like all forms of "Best", that is certainly a subjective title.  But I hope She will somehow learn what was so clear to me in that moment.
That while I might not be famous or have a particularly impressive resume or trophy collection, I prize being the Best Mommy In The World for one moment to one four-year-old more that I would an Olympic Medal.
We can't be the Best at everything, all the time.  But if we try really hard (and have our fair share of luck), we can be the Best, sometimes, at what matters to us most. 
What could really be better than that?

Birthday Catch Up Post

So, I had a birthday. 
Little One cried real tears for me that I didn't have a party.  But especially since, according to Her, you don't actually get to turn another year older if you don't have a party, I was pretty happy to skip that form of festivity this year. 
Instead, I hung out with my favorite Little people, and J, who made me fancy food and lovely cards.  J also used the time I was in Texas to hand-build me a table I've been wishing for for years.  He made it way nicer than I had imagined, using tiles we have hauled around with us almost a decade, from the first house we lived in together.  I know, right?  Go ahead and Awwww.  I know you want to.  
I also received from our unborn child the very generous gift of my first full day without throwing up since "morning sickness" set in back in April.  This present went very nicely with the ice-cream maker my in-laws hooked me up with.  Let the Great Fattening begin!
Since that time I've been gradually feeling much better.  Although I ruined a days-long no-puking streak yesterday, generally speaking I'm keeping all my ice cream down these days, and feeling mostly good.  I'm getting rounder, for sure- although whether that's Baby or ice cream is up for debate. 
The Littles are getting really excited about it all, and my belly is becoming its own entity, getting a separate good night hug and kiss, becoming the recipient of its own colored pictures, songs, and conversations.  Pretty soon it will be wanting its own mailing address. (At this rate of growth it may need one).
We have been busy finishing preschool, taking swimming lessons, and doing all things summery.  This week we will get to see the inhabitant of the Belly and learn what pronoun to address it with, so that is exciting!  I will keep you Peanuts posted. 
In the meantime, so far this year of life is turning out to be pretty great. I love thinking that by my next birthday there will be a whole new person in our lives.  Here's to another year of adventures!

Greatest Grand Great-Grand

This year the Littles and I had the great honor of spending Fathers Day with the greatest great, grand, great-grandad there is!
My granddaddy was recovering from a hip surgery in a care center, and so we visited him there.  The kids were very excited and nearly knocked him from his wheelchair when they ran and jump-hugged him.  They colored elaborate pictures for him in his room and hung them up to liven the place up a bit. 
He is now in a fairy and Hello Kitty paradise. You're welcome, Grandad!  They accompanied his (always awesome) piano concert with singing, dancing (jazz hands!), and plinking along in, uh, "harmony".  They showered him in hugs and kisses. 
And, as they are good helpers, they assisted him diligently with his physical therapy.

My Littles adore this man, Peanuts. It's impossible not to! He is the quintessential kind, gentlemanly grandfather. In all my life, I have never seen him lose his temper.  Or even get decently angry about anything.  He's pretty much just nice all the time.
My Grandad has been the most consistently positive male role model in all my life.  That's not something to take for granted. He has always shown me that men don't have to get mean when they are mad, that they don't have to leave when things get rough. That they can care about their families all the time. To this day he is the person in my life who will always believe the best of me, always believe in the best for me, and always cheer me on.
So I felt honored on behalf of myself and my Littles too, to be able to spend Father's Day with Grandaddy.  It made me think of all the ways he has been important to me, all the ways that fathers are important.  Even the ones who aren't, technically, your father at all.

Father's Day Dinner

With the gifts the kids made him

Now that I am back home from Texas, I've been watching my Littles with J and thinking again how important fathers are.  Even the ones who technically are fathers.  Like my Grandaddy did for me, I think that J- in little teeny-tiny ways that gather up and stick together like a snowball rolling down a hill- is helping our girls to have a lifetime of happiness in their far futures. When they grow up and find people to have families with.
Kind of like how I found J, who happens to be the kind of guy who has never, in all the years I've known him, lost his temper.  Who is pretty much just nice all the time.  Who cares about his family.  All the time.  Who makes me happy.

(A Little) Power To The (Little) People

Being in Texas is exciting! It is so exciting! That it is really hard to go to sleep at the end of an exciting! day.   The Littles and I have been going through an uncharacteristic battle at bedtime to get them to keep their Little buns in bed and go to sleep.
Instead of giggling until something crashes or someone gets annoyed and tattles/hollers/runs out onto the landing.  Tonight I gave bedtime my best shot and came down to eat ice cream with my mom.  A time-honored tradition that must not be interrupted! Because there will be meltage and then heads will roll people.
But as we were sitting down with our frosty bowls, there was a "creaaak....click!" And then another.  I went on with my conversation (try to stop that steamroller amiright Peanuts?) but the sound continued and my mother's eyes became fixated on the landing behind me.
"Ahem".  (My mom.)  "You know, that's Miss out of Her bed. She keeps opening the door, peeking at us and then shutting it again".  I called my Mom a tattletale, and instructed Her to ignore it until it stopped or we heard screaming, whichever came first.
Now, I know Miss was directly disobeying my very clear instructions to stay in bed.  And I'm pretty strict about that kind of thing most of the time.  But in the spirit of the pick-your-battles philosophy, I have a policy of occasionally looking the other way when my kids want to be sneaky.
Because, as I explained to my mom, everyone needs to stick it to the man sometimes.  As long as no one gets hurt or bothered, as long as it isn't damaging any moral principle other than "because I said so", sometimes I acquiesce to a little bit of subversion.
I know, for example, that at home my Littles frequently pop back out of bed after being tucked in, and play or read or cuddle together for up to an hour before actually going to sleep.  So what? They don't leave their room, they're pretty quiet since they think they're being sneaky, and in the end they put themselves to bed anyways.  Plus they will sleep in later! So it doesn't bother me.  Plus, there's a quality of bonding between siblings united against the rule of their parents that is much more valuable than my pride.
I also know that Miss sneaks out of bed at nap-time to gather books and sit up leafing through them before turning in.  It does stretch out the nap period, but that's not always a bad thing. And if Her version of civil disobedience revolves around quiet reading, I'm all too happy to let it slide.
I've found a few nice side effects of this selectively-pushed-over parenting.  For one thing, Little One knows that if it was harmless She probably won't get in trouble, or not much, for breaking a directive on the sly. So She pretty much always confesses, unprompted.  It also self-resolves a lot of issues that could have become epic battles over relatively unimportant things.
Tonight, for example. After a little while Miss got bored of seeing whether She was really getting away with it, gave up and went to sleep.  Without a word from me.  Whereas I could have been up and down the stairs all evening getting frustrated over the fact that really, I can not make anyone go to sleep.
I have no idea if all this will horribly backfire someday, and I will end up with kids who think they can break all my rules as long as they're surreptitious about it.  But it's my great hope that by giving them an inch, they won't feel such a need to take a mile when they are older and stakes get higher.
I'm hoping that if right now Little One can bring Herself to admit that She needs my comfort because She fell climbing to get something forbidden, that someday She'll be able to come to me when Her heart is broken by that boy we told Her not to see.  Or when She needs a ride home from the party we told Her not to go to.  I'm hoping that if Miss learns I let it slide if it's something harmless, She'll also learn that a good, hard, absolute NO is because there must be a darn good reason for it.
And. I'm hoping that they develop a will that belongs, in the end, to just them.  Because I won't always be The Man in their world; someday there will be other authority figures and dominating personalities in their lives.  When those days come, I want to know that they have honed an ability to sometimes do their own thing, to sometimes disobey rules if the rules aren't fair, to sometimes protest. As long as, like now, no one gets hurt and no important moral principles are damaged.
After all, history has taught us that for the sake of being independent and strong, and sometimes for the sake of something greater than yourself, there are times you have to stick it to The Man.

The Sound of Teenager

Tonight the Littles got a treat.  They were allowed to stay up a little late and be introduced to the Sound of Music.  They LOVED it.
Aside from the challenges of explaining nazis, world war, love triangles, and nunnery to a four year old, it was fun for me too.  Fun to watch them light up at the songs and dance around the room with the Von Trap children.  It was very nice.
Only why, oh why, of all the lovely songs in that film, does my daughter have to go to bed flitting about with batting lashes singing, "I am six-teen going on seven-teen!"
Maybe I should go back to the part about nunnery.  

International Travel

It's a good thing my kids travel so well.  If they weren't all-star pros, flying alone with them, morning sickness, and pregnancy-induced motion sickness all the way to Texas might have been horrible, rather than fun with a side of moderate discomfort.
But, lucky for me, they do happen to be all-star pro travelers, and we did manage to both have fun and arrive safely in the great country of Texas.
Little One was concerned that we didn't get any travel shots first, which I think shows great depth of understanding on her part as to the nature of the Texan nation.
And here we are, hanging out with our favorite natives and making a team effort to exploit the talents and generosity of my mother to the fullest possible extent.  Why, at this very moment I am typing this in bed, while the Littles get stories read to them over a breakfast I did not fix. We are all smiles out here.
I'm starting to feel a little better, and though we miss J the kids are having a blast.  They are developing an appropriate reverence for the area.  After passing a pair of three-story cowboy boots, Little One has been on the lookout for giants. That's right, kiddo.  Everything really is bigger in Texas.  Who knows what we'll see next!

Hypocrisy

Some days ago, in the get-to-school rush, on a busy day, I grabbed a marker and wrote an address I needed on my hand as I dashed out the door.
Missy, who loves to put on her "makesup", has been admonished several times for putting Her markers towards this purpose.  It is a frequently reinforced rule in our house that markers and crayons are Only For Paper.  I did not consider this as I scribbled that address.
As I buckled Miss into Her car seat, She grabbed my wrist and gasped.

Miss:"Mommy! What this coloring here all 'bout?!"

C: "oh! That? Um, we'll that is, it's just...it...."

Miss (shaking Her head): "oh, Mommy.  You color onna self.  You not coloring on paper."

C: "well, I...uh...well, see no its...hmm"

Miss: "Uh oh, Momma.  You gonna get in big trouble here. You gonna get in some big trouble with...YOURSELF!"

Well, She was right.  As the family Rule Enforcer, I had an obligation to uphold the law.
  I put myself in time out, and I wasn't allowed to play with markers all day.  

Pregnancy Portrait

So. Now you know what I've been up to while drawing out the process of logging our trip beyond reason.  I've been making a person! How is it going, you ask?  Oh, well since you asked.
I think the answer can be best illustrated by Little One, who has expressed the essence of the last three months beautifully with this masterpiece:

 

"See, Mommy, that's you, on yours knees, and there is the potty there, and see you are making a yucky face! And there, see there that's your big round belly that has the baby inside it!" 

It is really quite an accurate likeness.
I do not do pregnancy with grace, Peanuts.  Not with any.  I do not do adorable, glowy pregnancy, raving about how feminine and alive and special I feel.  I feel like crap.  I just claw my way through the days with a plastic Target bag in one hand. Eating like a starved monkey one minute and then hurling until my mascara runs down my face, and I don't even care because now I lost my lunch and I'm starving again.
On a good day I start thinking, look at me! Go me! I did a load of laundry! Now I'm going to make din- wait.  No. No I'm not.  I've just been hit in the head by a swinging tube sock full of broken bricks.  I'm going to lie on the couch.  I'm going to lie here, trying to summon the strength to continue breathing, while the house falls down around me and the children go completely feral.
My husband is trapped in a strange hell, in which he has to manage single-parenting feral children among the mess while simultaneously minding a starved monkey. Who whines a lot.
His parents have been staying in town for the duration of this madness, and I'm sure it is the worst vacation ever.  I wish I could feel more guilt about that, but I can't because I'm too busy feeling so selfishly happy that they have been here to give J the occasional strange-hell respite and take the feral children to the zoo. 
Not that the Lord-of-the-Flies-Littles are without their merits. They can be quite sweet.  I lie on the couch and Missy says, "You not feeling good?  I snuggle you.  I snuggle you baby." And climbs up to lay Her head on my tummy and pat me gently.  She sees me dash across the house, slippers flying, and hollers, "you t'rowing up 'gin? Ok! Ok! I feel you bettah!" and dashes as well- to the art area to make me an elaborate drawing to cheer me up with.  Little One is just as concerned.  She breaks into the bathroom, holds my hair back like a good little sorority sister, and reassures me.  "Aw.  It's ok, it's ok Mommy. Go ahead."  She sings to the baby and brings me things and plays endless Uno games when I can't rally for much else. 
Most importantly, they remind me.
They go around being their little selves and remind me that in just a little bit of time, all of this will be a faded memory.  So pale next to the dazzling vibrancy of what it's all for.  They remind me that a few months of sleepless nights, weary days, and being transfigured into an invalid, starving monkey is a small price to pay for the sleepless nights and weary days I will get to spend rocking the perfect little person whose heart is already beating in there somewhere. 
In the meantime, I probably haven't returned your calls.  But if you need me, you can always find me.  Little One's picture up there is not just a portrait, it's a map!  Print that baby out and if you want to find me, you'll always know what room I'm in. 

The Rumors Are True.

Moving On!

Since we came home, we have been busy little bees. 
I hardly know where to start.  But for the most part it's home projects and a wonderful, extended visit from J's folks, school and play group and ballet and swimming lessons.  All that life stuff that gets rolling and keeps the days filled and makes the weeks seem to evaporate. 
We've been (not so) patiently waiting for the weather to warm up around here, and it is hesitantly agreeing to turn the corner and begin a slide through spring into summer.  I hope. 
The Littles are growing and learning and keeping us up on the very tips of our toes, as we dance our way through dinners and bedtimes and learning to ride tricycles. 
I'm taking time to try and enjoy moments of holding my Littles together in my lap, or watching them swing from a sunny spot.  I'm looking forward to a fun, busy summer and frankly can't wait for school to end so Little One can be home all day and we can play in the baby pool and explore the zoo and just enjoy our family time.  Especially because there will be some big changes coming up for us soon (is there ever a dull moment around here?), but I will tell you all about that.  Soon. 

One Last Thing...

The first time I met the children of the AFC home was SIX years ago.  Six!
They were all over the age of eight (that was part of the point), but they were still little kids.
Some of them were VERY little; I distinctly recall that two of the kids (age 8 and 9 years at the time) regularly wore size 18mo. onesies with perfect comfort.  That's what malnutrition and illness will do for you.  They were little bitty bundles of adorable sweetness.
I remember that some of them had been SO sick.  Some of them were SO sad.  There was one little girl who hid under beds and behind doors for months. The home was pretty new, then.  They were just becoming a family, just getting to know what a home felt like. 
Some had never been to school, some couldn't read. Some had behaviors to manage as they worked through the fresh wounds of various traumas.  They were a bunch of little kids from different places, literally, and in disparate places metaphorically too; all sort of precariously finding their way day by day.

While I've since spent time with those who have traveled to the states for medical care, and while I've never left the organization and the effort to stand by those kiddos as an international family of supporters, it had been six years since I'd been in the home or seen most of the children in person.  Six years! There are now AFC kids who have grown into young adults and moved on.  Like any young adult fresh on their own two feet, they come back to the home on weekends and for family events and holidays, and for dinner time to time.  But they are out in the world nonetheless.  Crazy how time flies.
For me, the absolute most wonderful thing about our whole trip to Ethiopia was getting to see the kids- not just because they have such an exceptionally soft and smooshy spot in my heart (and will forever).  But because, as someone who volunteers on the other side of the planet in simple faith that the work is important and doing something good, it was monumentally gratifying to see that, yes.  Yes, all the effort and support from everyone who gives to and works at AFC is doing exactly what we could only hope it would.
It was the best feeling to see the way each and every AFC child has grown into their own.  The progress and change since six years ago is stunning. 
The kids are healthy.
They have made leaps and bounds in their education that are astonishing.
They are all so unique and so sure of who they are.  So much more than I would expect any teenager to be, much less these who have been through so much. 
They are compassionate and kind and generous.
Not once did I see so much as an eye-roll when one of their pint-sized guests threw a tantrum or took the last of the pasta or snuck into their room and finger-painted with their toothpaste. 
Impossibly, I had over a dozen teenaged role-models for my children, every one of whom I could not have been happier for my children to emulate.  I went to bed saying little prayers-  Please, please, let my Littles turn out like these ones when they are teenagers.  Please let the way these AFC kids study and do their chores and treat guests and one other become impressed upon the little minds of my children and stick there.
Perhaps the best part was simply seeing how they had become so entirely and irrevocably a family together.  They joked around and hung out and worked together and sometimes argued, and stuck up for one another just like any siblings anywhere.  Sitting at the dinner table each night and watching them take for granted that this was their home and their family nearly brought me to tears sometimes.  Yes, I would think.  Yes.  This is what we'd hoped for, six years ago, isn't it?
I'm not taking credit for this, by the way.  The credit goes to the founder, who made this home out of nothing. It goes to the program manager, who is pure gold in the world of program managers.  Some goes to the AFC volunteers and supporters and donors everywhere who make it possible at the end of the day.
And most of all,  it goes to each of those kids.  They are breathing examples of strength and tenacity and faith.  They are the seemingly impossible ideal of what a human being- any human being- can make of themselves if given the slightest opportunity.
They are- in a world where boston bombers and chicago kidnappers and hate crimes exist- my faith in the human heart and soul.  My faith in the potential of the future.
I am so grateful to these children.  What more important and valuable gift could be given than inspiration to be a better person, faith in goodness, and hope for my children's future? Knowing that the AFC kids are who they are out there in the world gives me exactly that.
It's a myth that the best role models are famous, old, and/or dead.  The best one's I've found in all my travels, reading, and searching are always children.  Especially these.

Brighter Side

There are more stories I've been mulling over posting, from our trip.  But the trip was a long time ago now.  So I'm thinking, maybe later. Maybe.  I do want to share, on a personal note, what it was like to travel across the world with two Littles in a general sense.
And then, people, we shall have to move on.  Because life does and because the harder parts of the trip are hard to write about.  Because there are some things that just don't turn out, quite, in words. The good parts, too.
So, for now, let me describe living with my kids for a month at a children's home in Ethiopia.
There were over 20 of us in the compound, which altogether is smaller than the footprint of my house and yard, one level.  My friend was there too, with her own two littles.  The six of us shared a room, sleeping on pads on the floor and sharing two big wool blankets.  We all shared a bathroom with the staff and any visitors, and bathed the kids in the plastic tubs we washed clothes in.  The kitchen was outside with the sun streaming over the large family table each morning.  The power went out sometimes, the water turned off sometimes (memorably the three nights in which one child or another woke up vomiting).  There was smoke from the charcoal cooking fires, there were cats roaming and fighting with the dog.  There was the sound of goats herding by, the ringing din of mosques calling devotees to prayer, and the smell of berbere and coffee always on the air.  There were a couple baby dolls and some crayons we had brought, but (keep in mind the kids at the home are all older than 12 now) there were no toys.
Pretty much as different from home as it could be.
It was awesome.
Here is the reason:
There was fresh bread and real honey and hand roasted/ground coffee each morning, brewed exactly as it has been for centuries.  That was enough reason for the whole trip, right there.

Grinding Fresh Coffee

Heaven in a little cup.

But also. 
Despite what urban legend may have you thinking, the absolute fact is that children are much, much better traveling companions than adults.  Fact!
Because adults get uncomfortable and whiny.  Kids get creative.

-When the lights went out after dark- hide and seek! Flashlight tag!
 

-When the water turned off- who cares? Getting dirty is fun!
 

-When you share a room with five other people? - Sleepover every night!! Dog pile on mama!




-Stray cats? You mean new buddies.
 

-And who needs toys when you have friends?

 

And dirt.


The kids had a blast. Every. Day.

They made magical gardens.

They baked elaborate cakes.


They stole charcoal from old cooking fires and made murals
 
...and played hopscotch.
 

They played endless games of pretend everything.
 

They spent hours making mud.  For the simple sake of making mud. 


Not to mention the exciting sights and sounds when we went out and about.
 
I worried about the complete absence of "childproofing" sometimes.  But there were quite a lot of watchful eyes around.  And I couldn't help but think, every day as I watched them, that this life was somehow closer to the way childhood is just supposed to be, somehow.
They explored and imagined all day.  And when school was out and the big kids came home?
There was an endless supply of friends willing to play tag, hide and seek, swing-me-up-in-the-air,
ring around the rosy, pony ride, race car, Ping pong, dance party, anything under the sun!

Dance Party!

Ping Pong Champions

 

Little One LOVED Her "Fancy Hair"

Ponies

Or to sit quietly and read.
Little One missed a month of school and I admit I did nothing formally to "homeschool" her on this trip.  But she found so many teenagers eager to practice English with her, that She spent hours and hours writing words, then lists, then stories, and practicing reading and simple math. When we returned home her teachers were floored by her new skills.
When we left the US she was reading five letter words and writing some three letter ones.  When we got home she was reading seven letter words in paragraphs and writing two page, phonetic stories. And subtracting on paper.  I did none of that. It was the joy of learning together.

Word Games

Missy always had a doting fan to push her to sleep in a stroller or tote her around.


They were allowed to wear whatever they chose and get as dirty as they pleased.  The nannies could be easily cajoled into feeding them whenever they wanted. And since all the food was all organic, sugar-free, made from scratch, and- thanks to fasting season- allergy friendly, I had no qualms about looking the other way.  When they got tired they slept.  When they woke, they played.  It was child paradise.
No wonder Little One looked like this as we were about to depart.

It took Her weeks to forgive me for leaving.  Missy seems just as happy to be here, there, or anywhere, as long as my hip is present.  But Little One seemed to find Her place in the world on that trip.  She misses Her AFC friends dearly, as do I.  We miss the food, we miss the company, we miss the way days stretch out long enough to lay in the sun and count birds.
On one of the last nights, some new friends threw us a big goodbye party, complete with a feast of Ethiopian food, a traditional coffee ceremony, music and games and fun.

"Please", Little One whispered sleepily in my ear as I carried Her back to the compound, "Please can't we just live here?  Daddy could come and we could all be a big family".  
Under the big moon with the sound of all the kids laughing as we walked, I really wanted to say yes. 
As hard as some of this trip was, it was also inspiring, relaxing,  and a heck of a lot of fun. We are a Navy family and will probably never get to live in such a place.  But part of my heart will always be there. And I hope with the rest of it that my Littles and I, and maybe even J, too, will be back to be blessed by the beauty of Ethiopia again.